


Transformation

by Ayden



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayden/pseuds/Ayden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sit in the corner on your bed facing the wall, lost in your own world. You sit with your knees to your chest, straightjacket binding your arms against yourself. The last time you ate was two days ago, and you can feel hunger gnawing at every organ in your body. Your bed is soaked with excrements and blood, and there is blood in your dirty black hair and dripping down your glasses and face.  Your blue eyes are dull, and the only thing they can see anymore is blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Yorsh's Henioustuck

The room was dank and reeked of bleach and that weird hospital smell that you can’t quite describe. It was silent except for the humming of the on florescent light bulb in the center of the room that was flickering with its last moments of life. It was a tiny rectangular room with only enough space for a twin size bed. The walls were a yellowish off-white in color splattered with puke green stains and what seemed to be bodily fluid. The small barred window in the corner projected false freedom with its green grass, blue skies and bright sun. The faint moans of the other patients could be heard echoing down the hall.

You sit in the corner on your bed facing the wall, lost in your own world. You sit with your knees to your chest, straightjacket binding your arms against yourself. The last time you ate was two days ago, and you can feel hunger gnawing at every organ in your body. Your bed is soaked with excrements and blood, and there is blood in your dirty black hair and dripping down your glasses and face.  Your blue eyes are dull, and the only thing they can see anymore is blood. They beat you in the morning at breakfast, they beat you when you refuses to take you pills, they beat you during your ‘therapy’ (electric chair) they beat you at lunchtime, they beat you when you refuses to take your afternoon pills, and they beat you at night when they literally throw you into your cell and lock you in for the night.

You _know_ they are after you. Your own father is after you. The people who run this asylum are after you. Everybody is after you. You used to have friends that supported you, until they changed themselves. They say its better, but they’re in constant pain. Dave has a sword sticking through his chest and his face is burned into a beak shaped mask like the plague doctors used to wear, Jade has extra arms sewn to her sides and bullet holes in her, and Rose…you don’t even want to _think_ about what they did to Rose. She’s completely gone. You shiver at the thought and let out a little whimper. A whitecoat comes up to your cell and pounds on the cell door before slipping a tray of food in the slot. It lands in the dust in the ground, and some of your dinner spills over onto the ground out the bowl. You look at the brown stain on the floor then listen for footsteps walking away. When the coast is clear, you get up and run over to the ground, kneeling down next to the tray and begin to lap at the soup with your tongue. You don’t care that it might have poison in it, or that it’s burning your tongue, or that they treat you like a dog for their amusement. They gave you warm food, and you’re going to enjoy it. After getting it down to the point where the bowl could be tipped, you grab it with your teeth and flip it up carefully, balancing it in your mouth so it goes where it’s supposed to, and not all over your jacket.

You finish the meal without any more kinks in your plan before standing up and moving back onto your bed. Suddenly everything gets all blurry. You were right, but it was worth it. You pass out quickly due to the tranquilizer that was in your soup. When you wake up you hear the familiar whirring of electricity and you prepare yourself for the next shock. An electric jolt runs through your body, and you cry out in pain before being electrocuted again. You look up at the whitecoat, who smiles with her harelip grin. _Rose…_ Soon you black out from the pain again.

When you wake up in your cell, there is someone next door making quite a racket as they are being dragged down the hall. _NONONO PLEASE DON’T TAKE ME ILL BE BETTER I SWEAR_ -there’s a thud and a sudden silence. You sigh and sit up, accidently hitting your sad excuse for a pillow off the bed. You kneel next to it and pick the case up in your teeth the wrong way, making your pillow fall out of the case and a picture along with it.

“Dammit.” You mutter to yourself, knowing this is going to be a huge hassle to get the horrendously lumpy pillow back in the paper thin case. You get distracted by the picture. It’s a picture of Rose before the accident, before everything changed, before her transformation. You remember everything that happened that day. It’s a candid photo of her playing with her then new kitten and laughing. It was your birthday, and Dave was touring with his bro who was deejaying at the time, and Jade had a bad cold so only Rose could make it to your little get together. It was just the three of you; your dad, who baked all of the cakes you ate, Rose and yourself. It was embarrassing at the time but not so embarrassing now to admit that that day was one of the greatest days of your life. Rose came over with your gift and her kitten tucked into her hoodie, pawing at one of the strings when she stood on the doorstep. You answered the door and she gave you a big hug and wished you a happy birthday before giving you a kiss on the cheek and giggling when you turned red. Your dad had seen it all and said that she would be a good girlfriend for you before ducking into the kitchen as you threw the closest thing to you at him, which happened to be your shoe. It hit the door and bounced off the handle as your dad opened the door again and threw a pie in your face, which made you all erupt into laughter. When your dad turned back to get you a towel Rose came over and licked some whipped cream off of your mouth before giving you your first kiss. You blushed and returned it happily, pleasantly surprised that she liked you back. The rest of the day was spent cuddling on the couch and watching Con Air, with you yelling your favorite part with backup from your dad. You don’t remember what she had knitted you anymore, but you remember that you wore it every day up until you were placed in this cell.

Suddenly the images you never wanted to think of again began to appear in your mind. The images you never wanted to remember. The last time you talked to her she still had her short blonde hair, but it was stained with blood from her cat ears and the ridiculous wizard hat poking out of her head with rose thorns curled around it. Her arms were completely replaced with thorned, flowered tentacles, which were bloody at the shoulders, and lastly her feet were morphed into cat’s hind legs. You could handle the tentacles, you’d just have to find a different way for her to hug you. You didn’t even mind the cat legs! But the worst thing about the whole thing was her smile. That smile will haunt you for the rest of your life. Her face was now marred with what looked like purple patchwork quilting, with the eye skin being narrowed down so she looked more cat like. Except it was worse than that. The patchwork design was made from her own skin, which was dyed different shades of purple, and literally sewn together. But that smile. They had ripped her mouth more open so she had a permanent harelip, like a cat, and gave her fangs. Her smile was fucking unnerving now, to go along with her personality. She was even friendlier than before and carefree, so she was always laughing, making her mouth patchwork stretch even more, which in turn caused some of the stitching to rip and begin bleeding.

You can’t stomach anymore and you vomit in the opposite direction, purposely missing your pillowcase and pillow and the picture. When you manage to stop you can feel tears running down your cheeks as you look back at the picture before that terrible day. You hear footsteps coming and you quickly grab the pillowcase with your legs and manage to stuff the pillow into the pillowcase before carefully picking up the picture with your teeth and gently dropping it back in before whipping the pillow back onto your bed just before the door opens.

“Aww, are you sick? Does your tummy hurt?” The whitecoat asks, feigning care. You ignore him and continue looking at the wall. “Don’t like the food here?” He asks, coming over to where you are kneeling. You continue ignoring him until you feel the familiar sensation of your hair being grabbed, and accidently let out a whimper. That was an obvious mistake as you’re punched in the face.

“I asked you a question. You answer me. You don’t like the food here?” He spits at you. You refuse to answer, looking at him with contempt while waiting for him to get closer. When he leans over you again you make your move, headbutting into his stomach and standing up before making your getaway. You get to your feet and run out the barred iron door, not looking back. At first you’re wobbly but then you get the hang of running in a straightjacket, taking care to not lean too far forward. You run past everything and everyone, until you reach the office of your psychiatrist, the only one in the whole hospital who believes you.

She opens the door when you frantically hit against it with your head.

“John? John, what’re you doing here? It’s after hours, aren’t you supposed to be in your cell? What happened to you? You’re bleeding!” Ms. Paint exclaims, letting you into her office.

“Everything-wrong-tran-tr-transformation-whitecoat-blood-Rose-“You’re aware that you’re panting and mumbling and making no sense. Ms. Paint motions you to sit in the chair across from her and her desk, which you accept gratefully as you try to gain your breath back.

“Now take a deep breath and tell me what happened from the beginning, okay?” She asks gently. You nod and wait a few more seconds before trying to retell your story.

“I w-was thinking a-bout R-Rose again and it made m-me throw up a-and a wh-whitecoat came in and st-started to b-beat me up be-because he th-thought I did it on pu-purpose because I-I d-d-didn’t like the f-food-“You stutter out, looking down at the fresh vomit stains on you straightjacket.

“Now John, I thought we were working on having you just thinking about Rose in the past, not what she is now.” Ms. Paint explained gently.

“I let m-my mind wander, I’m sorry-”Ms. Paint sighs.                   

“It’s okay, Just try not to worry about it too much, okay?” You nod slightly and let out a soft sob.

“Now tell me John, do they beat you a lot?”

“Y-yeah.” You whisper. Ms. Paint stands up and presses the call button on her phone. A few minutes later Doctor Scratch walks in, the head of the hospital. He is pale as ever, and today he is dressed in a nice white suit and a light green shirt with his signature dark green bowtie.

“Now Jonathan, I heard that you have a few complaints about my staff. I must assure you, that my staff is not trying to hinder you in anyway. I am, after all, an excellent doctor.” You make a pfft noise and he turns to examine you, hands still clasped behind his back.

“I see you still do not like me that much. That is perfectly normal, especially under your circumstances. Now Jonathan, I would like you to hear me out, and listen carefully. We are simply trying you keep you happy and healthy while you are staying with us. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Ms. Paint shoots you a look and you send her a ‘what?’ glance.

Doctor Scratch paused for a moment from his pacing.

“Now pray tell Jonathan, what are your dissatisfactions with my staff and I?” He asked carefully. You glare at him then Ms. Paint steps in for you.

“He believes that we are priming him for his own transformation, and that we are also responsible for his friends’.”

“Transformation?” Doctor Scratch asks you before Ms. Paint whispers something into his ear.

“Oh yes, transformation. I am glad to inform you that I and my excellent staff are not at all responsible for these…transformations you speak of. I am, however, in charge of your health and wellbeing. Now seeing as this was all a misunderstanding, I suppose that you should go back to your cell.”

“No! I won’t! I don’t believe I single word you say! You’re a liar!! I fucking hate you! You transformed my friends and you’re going to transform me!!” You continue yelling at him for a few minutes until you feel the familiar prick of the needle in your neck. You feel yourself begin to spin a little, and your eyelids begin to droop on their own accord.

“I see. Now as I have not changed your mind in anyway, I suppose we will have you cleaned up and sent back to your cell for the rest of the evening.” Doctor Scratch tells you as you are dragged out of the office by two big whitecoats who double as the doctors’ bodyguards. You are thrown back in your dim cell, and you eventually pass out.

When you wake up again, you still cannot move your arms, but this time you realize you can’t move your legs either. Or even your neck. You wiggle around a few times then realize you are being pushed on a gurney. You don’t know where it’s going or why, but all you know is that you’re screwed. You overhear the nurse pushing you whisper to the doctor that it’s time for your operation. You squirm and writhe and try to break away, but it’s to no avail. You’re bound to the gurney with absolutely no wriggle room. You lay horrified as they begin operating on you, beginning with cutting your arm to the bone. You can’t handle the pain and you black out instantly, the whirr of the saw fading away fast.  

* * *

 

Epilogue 1

You wake up in your cell, except you can feel your arms are free! Well, your arm. You look down and you have no right arm. Well, you do if you could call a bony stump your arm. At least your other arm is free. You play with your newfound free arm until you hear a pound on the door. You’re so excited by being free, you accidently speak out loud.

“Yes?” You can feel your heart beat faster as you realize your mistake, until you hear a familiar voice on the other side of the door.

“Jonathan, I understand you have gone through a vital surgery. I have come to visit you and make sure you’re okay.” You hear the few locks on your door unlock and the door swings open to reveal Doctor Scratch.

“How are you feeling? You are feeling well, correct? It was some heavy brain surgery. I’m very glad you finally woke up.”  You can’t help but voice the question on your tongue.

“How long was I asleep?”

“A week or so. You had us all worried about your, Jonathan, especially Ms. Paint. She really cares about you, you know.” Doctor Scratch continued standing in the doorway.

“M-Ms. Paint was worried about me?”

“Yes, as was I, of course. It’s nice to finally see you reply in a pleasant manor, instead of you spitting at me or not responding at all, which is certainly worse.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles pleasantly.

“I see you are still the same.”

“As are you.”

“I will take my leave and let you rest. Now here is a little something from Ms. Paint and myself. It’s to calm you down and reassure you there is nothing to worry about.” He comes over and hands you a small hand mirror. You wait until he leaves to take a look into it. You brush back your hair and you see your blue eyes, still dull, this time with a strange green goop leaking from them. You’re wearing a ridiculous jesters hat, and your glasses are broken. As you gaze deeper into your reflection, you realize your worst nightmares are coming true. You can see that same deadness in your eyes that you saw in your friend’s eyes. You silently begin to cry as it hits you finally. _They won._

Your name is John, and you have just undergone your transformation.

* * *

 

Epilogue 2

            You wake up in a familiar room, and more importantly, your arms are free!. You take a look around the room smiling at the familiar posters. You smile and choke up as you realize all of that was just a dream. _Rose is okay. I’m okay. Everything is okay._ You go downstairs, following the smell of your dad’s pipe mingling with cologne and a fresh baked cake. You notice something is different about your house, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. You hear a scuffle under the couch in the living room. Hmm. You pause for a minute, then pinpoint it moving under the curtain. When you lift the curtain there’s nothing behind it! You swear you can hear the tiniest, faintest giggle.

“Alright, I know you’re in here!” You exclaim to no one in particular before moving back to the couch. You see a shape under the rug, and steadily and carefully approach it, being careful not to make it run away. When you safely reach the corner, you yank it back and there’s the familiar little black kitten purring and gazing up at you with his big green eyes. You laugh and you hear someone running away from you.

“Alright missy, It’s on!!!!” You exclaim, following the footsteps.

“Uh huh! Come on derpbert, find me already!!” Rose calls back. You roll your eyes and you can hear your dad laughing in the kitchen.

“Hey! Only Dave can call me that!” You follow them faster. After a while you manage to corner her in the hallway leading to the bathroom.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You come up and she meets you in the middle for a hug.

‘What’re you doing here?” You ask, still confused.

“You asked me to come over, remember? Then when I arrived your dad said you were sleeping. So I decided it should be a surprise.” Rose smiles at you before giving you a kiss. You return it just as happily, smiling into it before breaking away.

Suddenly you get overwhelmed and pull her closer.

“John? Are you okay?” She sounds worried,

“I just-I’m fine.” You lie _. Aww who am I kidding! She’s going to go off on me!_

“You’re lying to me. Did you have a bad dream?” Rose asks gently, beginning to rub your back.

“Y-yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it? I’m sure it will help to talk about it.”

Typical Rose, always wanting to psychoanalyze her friends. That’s what she’s best at anyway.

“N-not really-” You get a whiff of her natural scent and you can feel yourself choke up a little.

“John? Are you crying? Please, talk to me.” You shake your head and you slump onto her a little, burying your head in her shoulder. She sighs and rub your back more.

“Please?” She tries one more time. You grunt a no and she lets it drop. You’re just calming down from crying into her when you feel a bunch of spikes poke into you as something slithers around your back and your waist. You scream.


End file.
